31 January 2013

I'm twenty-eight and so far I've given a ton of thought to the matter of
what foodstuff I just wouldn't feel comfortable without. I wouldn't
align such meditation with the ubiquitous desert island or doomsday
scenarios, no. It's more of a benign pondering about a bite of what I, a
serious and devoted eater, would be happy to have on any given day,
come what may. In general terms, I can't do without fruit. But: there is
fruit and then there is fruit, by which I mean there is fruit and there
are...apples. One, two, three apples a day -- that's for me. Of course,
of course I wouldn't collapse on the floor in tears if there is none, oh
no, I wouldn't, especially if there are slurpy, oil-coated fried
noodles around, or spicy chana punjabi, or cake, yes. Yet, should one
thing be stripped off my plate for good, please, for fruit's sake, may it
not be apples.

But look, don't think I'm so noble. My views don't stand unwavered.
Every summer I run away with the circus of fresh berries and stone
fruits thoroughly trimming my old allegiances to the bone. It surely is
joy to frolic in the sun with the summer's ruby-cheeked and gentle
offsprings, and it would make me such a big liar to say I would never
not do it -- I'm not so prudent (who is?). But even then, ask me what
my all-time favorite is, and apples I'll say. But wait, it's not
because I'm so healthy either. I don't find it outrageous at all to
start my day with a slab of one cake and to
finish with another. Not to take away from the
nutritional value of cake, but you know what I mean.

My fondness for apples -- beyond their crunch, and the way their
skin splits open under my teeth, and their sweet and tart flesh, and how
they quench my thirst -- may have something to do with longing. Ivan Bunin wrote about such kind of longing in his Antonov Apples. I was
fifteen to read the story for the first time. I didn't pick up much on
Bunin's nostalgia for the times of land-owners and their peasants, but I
did smell from the pages that honey and befallen leaves and ripe apples
in the thinning autumnal Russian countryside, and that longing of his,
not the ideological kind but the physical pulling in the gut, was
somehow -- through the obsolete words, and the barking of a stray dog
below my windows, and the air around me heavy with the smoke and the
scent of decaying leaves -- also mine. Mine, because I, too, longed.

There had been a year earlier when my grandparents' apple trees bore
the unexpected bounty of late harvest fruit, and so a lot of it was
stored in wooden crates for winter. My cousins and I got a couple of
crates each. Every day while my fruit stash lasted I popped out onto my
parents' balcony where the crates sat to pick up a few apples, each not
larger than a tennis ball, in the morning and a few at night. Those that
hadn't yet become wizened and started to smell of a cheap cider were as
crisp as air on clear and frosty days and had a vague scent of tea
roses. I devoured hundreds of them, already reaching for the next while
only a few bites into the first. As if I knew that I should -- what if
next year the apple trees wouldn't bear fruit at all, or the year after
my grandparents would sell their dacha. As if devouring those apples
meant to devour the barking of a dog at dawn, the cotton fog lifting
slowly off the ground, the image of my grandfather trying to knock the
fruit off the brunches with his cane, the soft and quiet sun...

I don't mean to say that every apple I hold now sends me down
memory lane and into that place where a continuous anticipation for, and
apprehension of, the moments to come competes with a constant longing
for the moments that passed. That would be overwhelming. But eating an
untoward amount of apples appeared to be somewhat habit-forming for me
-- I'm glad things didn't go down the aversion road -- which is fine
with me seeing my predilection for cake three times, or more, a day (see
above).

Apple and Spelt Muffins

Yield: 12 muffins

These are my
favorite muffins. To communicate how much I like them, let me tell you
this: if nobody ever invented cake (again, see above), I would never
complain to spend the rest of my life with only these muffins around.
That's how much.

A few years ago I teamed up with a food photographer to do a project
together. We brainstormed and agreed to play around spelt, now that
it's reliving its former glory here in Holland. My task was to develop a
number of recipes utilizing the grain in its various forms, and I
wouldn't be myself, you understand, if I didn't do something with
apples. The project didn't sell, but it was a good experience for me
anyway. Last week I unearthed this one recipe and tinkered with it some
more, and whoa, fully loaded with spelt flour, apples (!), spices, citrus, and
oats, these muffins, nutty, and wholesome, and fragrant, and moreish,
knocked me off my feet.

Often baked goods with spelt flour have a dry reputation, and I had a fear
that completely foregoing conventional wheat flour this time around
could put my muffins at great risk, but I shouldn't have worried so
much. A few tweaks here and there -- largely, pairing baking powder with
baking soda and using vegetable oil in place of butter -- and these
little darlings revealed the interior that's tender and moist, and most
importantly, it stays so. If you let it to, that is.

I noticed at my health food store that spelt flour comes in
two forms: refined and whole-grain. So you know, for this recipe I used
the refined type.

Sieve
together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and spices. In a
blender or a clean coffee grinder, coarsely grate the oats. Add to the
flour, along with the salt, and mix well.

In a separate mixing bowl, rub the citrus zest into the sugar. Break
in the eggs and beat on high speed for two minutes. Mix in the
buttermilk and oil.

Incorporate the flour mixture into the egg
and sugar mixture. The lot will appear to be somewhat dry, but fear
not. Fold in the apples; their juices will bring in more moisture.

Scoop the batter into the muffin tin, a good 1/4 cup per
pocket. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until the muffins look nice and
dark-golden brown. Let cool in the tin for 5 minutes, then twist each
one out and remove on a wire rack to cool completely. Stored in an
airtight container, these muffins keep well for up to two days, but they
are at their best a couple hours after baking. (Storage tip: to prevent
the muffin tops from getting 'sweaty' from the emanating moisture,
place a piece of paper towel together with the muffins in the
container.)

4 comments:

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A few words

Hello, I am Anya Sokha (30). I am Russian, and Amsterdam, the Netherlands is my current home. Here I have been busying myself with various things, such as getting a master’s degree in English linguistics (finished!); being a pastry cook (an apprentice before, and a dish-washer before that) in a French-style bakery; and figuring out where I should go next.

Godful Food has nothing to do with church and such. I made the word 'godful' up to show that food and writing are my religion. I was trying to be clever or something.